


Bath for Two

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A decision is finally made on a stormy winter night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bath for Two

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to inwe_saralonde for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Written for tripledogdare, for their 4th challenge: Hair.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Eglarest, 38 First Age**

The thing about living by the seaside was that after a while it started being part of you - literally. Galdor had moved to Eglarest little less than a two sun years ago but he had had more than enough time to learn this hard truth in more than one unpleasant way.

Tonight, for instance, he had dug through his closet, searching for his good boots, the ones in black leather with the silver buckles accentuating the curve of the leg in the right places and the engraved hem right below the knee. He was not what you would call fetching, at least not for an Elf. His nose was too aquiline, the chin a tad too strong, the shoulders broad as an ox's, and his legs bowed slightly from too much horseback riding at a young age. Thus, he needed all the help he could get from clothing and adornments. He was not vain, but he had to present himself well, especially now that he started an intimate relationship with the lord of the land.

This evening, for instance, he was supposed to attend a private dinner with Círdan and their neighbour, Turgon. The evening was meant as a friendly farewell now that all the business had been done and all the treatises signed. Galdor's week had been stormy, to say the least, running around from meeting to meeting, trying to do his best for Círdan's interests but at the same time feeling a little torn when that meant being ruthless to Turgon's people, who not so long ago had been his own. In the middle of it all, he had had little chance of preparing for social events.

He found the boots and cursed. The damned humidity had gotten to them and a thick layer of greenish mould covered them. He pulled them out from the confines of the closet, coughing as a fine cloud of spores formed around the boots. Maybe with a little luck they were good. He had worn them... maybe four months ago when Círdan had gifted them to him - how much damage would that translate into?

Galdor tried cleaning them with a shirt that he had thrown into the laundry basket - big mistake, as the shirt immediately acquired a dark grey shade that didn't look too washable; the boots were only slightly improved. He resigned himself to let go of his vanity and wear his day-to-day brown suede boots that looked like they were ready to quit on him. It was sad that someone who had his earnings found himself in such straits over appropriate clothing. He really would have to find the time to solve that.

All too aware that he was running late, Galdor turned himself to the pesky business of choosing the outfit to wear. That should be easier - Círdan had gifted him with a sea-green tunic that matched his eyes, or so his lover said. Despite the mess in his closet, Galdor quickly found and donned it. His undershirt was not the most tailored and bulged in odd places under the tunic, but the overall effect was passable. Of course, that was another effect of the proximity to the sea - the weather had been so foul that the lady who usually did his laundry had refused to work, claiming it to be a waste of time to put clothes on the line for the sea to salt them.

Confirming his thoughts, a gale rattled Galdor's window and a few loud raindrops warned him that he would probably not make it completely dry to Círdan's halls. He had no time left to spare, though. As he was leaving his apartments, he cast a last glance in the mirror and saw himself - a mess, that was what he was! The sea-green tunic could almost blend well enough with the grey leggings, but the brown boots clashed, destroying any harmony he might have hoped to achieve. Worse, he had the same leggings he had worn all day and it showed: they were crinkled at the groin and puffed at the knees. Galdor felt utterly miserable, but he would have to run part of the way to be on time. Hopefully, the conversation would be interesting enough to keep all eyes from him... or so dull that the dinner would end early.

* * *

The dinner was not dull at all... well not for Círdan, Turgon and Egalmoth, who travelled with his lord. Galdor, however, had been all too conscious of his appearance and of the eyebrow Egalmoth had raised upon first seeing him. As he had crossed the waterfront, the sea wind had constantly blasted him and his hair, his only vaguely decent feature, became a salty tangle of knots by the time he reached Círdan's halls. Worse, the rain had wetted him enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to have an adequate excuse to weasel out of his unwanted social obligation. By the time the guests retired to their rooms and Círdan loosened the first two hooks of his pristine tunic, Galdor felt worse than wretched.

Círdan chuckled and walked to him, brushing his fingertips through his hair, quickly stopped by the tangles. "See why I wanted you to stay here with me? You look positively miserable."

"And here was me thinking you were just trying to want to frolic around with me and shock Turgon to death," Galdor quipped, looking up from his chair.

Círdan snorted. "Well, that too. But I'd rather have you safe and sound, all cosy, warm and clean here with me, than living in that shack of yours..."

Galdor bit a smile. He really wanted to say 'yes' and move in, but he liked hearing Círdan asking and the timing was not the best. "I'll think about it."

"Will you?" Círdan's fingers tightened in Galdor's hair. "Will you accept my hospitality tonight, at least?"

A shiver ran down Galdor's spine. It had been a week since they had last been together, kept apart by too much work and an added need for discretion. Still, Galdor felt too untidy... He felt silly, knowing that Círdan would not mind that, but the truth was that they were still in an early phase of their relationship and he felt that he had to impress Círdan every time.

"I'm not sure," he finally said.

Círdan pulled his head back none too gently. "Don't you like being difficult..." He leaned down and kissed Galdor, his tongue, warm and wine sweetened, unapologetically invading his mouth with the surety of familiarity. Galdor knew that it was a lost cause to try and resist the temptation so adeptly presented. He responded to the kiss, welcoming Círdan in his arms when he straddled him, letting his eager hands travel the paths they knew so well but never failed to arouse Círdan.

"Should we move to somewhere more private?" Círdan asked when they heard the servants knocking on the door, awaiting permission to clear the room.

"Yes," Galdor whispered, following Círdan to his inner rooms. The sight of a steaming bathtub by the fireplace made him step ahead of Círdan with a happy sigh.

"I noticed you were wet and looked cold. I asked for a tub of hot water for us just before dessert," Círdan said, holding him from behind.

"Splendid! You are incredible," Galdor said, turning to face Círdan. "You should be dead tired, wanting nothing but a quick shag before some restorative sleep, and yet you were thinking of my comfort all along."

Círdan chuckled, looking embarrassed. "Well, not just your comfort. I'm sure I'll derive great pleasure from tending to you."

"So get to it, already," Galdor challenged with a smiled.

With a wolfish grin, Círdan unhooked the rest of Galdor's tunic and pushed it down his arms. Then he pulled Galdor's shirt over his head, and loosened his leggings. He knelt and offered his shoulder for support while he first removed Galdor's left boot, then the right one. At last, he pulled down Galdor's leggings and made him step out of them. The efficient undressing had nothing of deliberate eroticism but before Círdan left him in his socks, Galdor was half hard.

Círdan rose from his knees and held Galdor by the waist with one hand while the other gently fondled him, making him harder. Galdor tried to unbutton Círdan's tunic, but was promptly chided. "You should get those socks off before jumping in."

Galdor obeyed with quick gestures, understanding that it was one of those nights when Círdan wanted to play. He gingerly stepped into the water, but the cold of winter had made it drop to a comfortable temperature, even with the fireplace blazing heat right next to it.

"Ahh, that feels good," he said, sinking until the water covered all but his shoulders. He had not fully perceived the extent of his weariness and discomfort until that moment, when every bone and muscle ached and pulsed with the heat.

"You have deserved that and more, this last week," Círdan purred. "Here, lean your head back."

Galdor obeyed him, closing his eyes to receive the water Círdan poured on his hair. Círdan put down the jar, then picked up the soap bar and gently massaged Galdor's head into a lather.

"You have such beautiful hair, my love," Círdan said, depositing a kiss on Galdor's forehead, before pouring more water to rinse it. "You should take better care of it, of yourself."

"I've you to do that," Galdor murmured, feeling Círdan's hands now on his shoulders, massaging softly. "Thank you for this," he whispered as Círdan washed him down. "It's truly an exquisite pleasure."

"You're most welcome," Círdan replied.

"I know you like this, taking care of me, but I want you to climb in. I want to share this with you."

"As you wish."

Galdor reclined in the tub, listening to Círdan's quick undressing. Soon, a hand nudged his shoulder but he did not budge to make room behind him.

"Sit between my legs," he invited.

Círdan complied, gracefully easing himself into the tub until he was leaning back against Galdor.

"What have I done to deserve you?" Galdor asked, inhaling the scent of Círdan's freshly washed hair.

Círdan chuckled. "I could ask the same... don't we sound like two idiots in love for the first time?"

Galdor breathed hard, more than laughed, and wrapped his arms around Círdan. "I am certainly one," he confessed, foolishly resenting a little the implication that Círdan had loved before him.

"Tired?" Círdan asked, dispelling the fleeting dark thought.

"Yes. But not so much so that I cannot... stay up... for a while longer."

Círdan laughed. "Yes, my love, I can certainly feel your mast poking my back. Don't measure your words for me."

"Loved for my crudeness - I should be offended," Galdor teased.

Círdan squeezed one of Galdor's ankles and replied in serious tone, "I love you for many reasons. Every day there are more."

Galdor held him tighter. "I love you too. I don't think I can love you more without bursting. But I still don't know what I did to deserve you, except for being pleasantly crude."

"Maybe I'll tell you one of these days... but this water has been warmer... We should go to bed."

Galdor nuzzled Círdan's neck. "All right. I will pat you dry and you can return the favour."

"Didn't I say you made good deals?" Círdan teased as he rose from the water.

"Flatterer," Galdor quipped, following him.

They dried each other, as negotiated, but long before they finished they found themselves kissing deeply, holding tight, losing interest in the towels. Galdor wished that they could lie in that very spot, but the rug that normally was in front of the fireplace had been removed for the bathtub.

They stumbled all the way to Círdan's bed, Galdor already feeling goose bumps forming under his hands from the chilly air. The bed was warm, though. Círdan had hot water bottles, and in no time they were cosy and getting warmer thanks to the bottles and to their own mischief.

Círdan interrupted a kiss. "I bet your bed is cold and humid when you get in every night."

Galdor kissed him. "Yes, but I don't want to think or talk about it now."

"Wonderful! Move in with me and we'll remove your bed from our lexicon at once."

"Can we discuss this later?" Galdor asked, trailing kisses along Círdan's jaw line.

"No."

"Yes, then. After Turgon leaves. You wouldn't want all of Vinyamar knowing that the lord of the Teleri has shacked up with an ugly Noldo stable boy."

"I don't care. You are so bright and able - they were idiots not to realize that and take advantage of your potential. And you're certainly not ugly," Círdan added, thrusting lightly against Galdor to show him the vehemence of his body's agreement with his words.

"You _are_ a flatterer," Galdor replied jokingly, feeling vaguely embarrassed.

"Just telling the truth," Círdan replied, cupping Galdor's face between his hands. "So the answer is 'yes'? It's really 'yes'?"

Galdor bit his lip and nodded. Smiling, Círdan pulled his face and kissed him. "Let's celebrate this deal, then."

 

_Finis  
September 2008_


End file.
